


The Wily Ones

by bigblueboxat221b



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Best Friends, Deleted Scenes, Developing Relationship, Don't copy to another site, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-13
Updated: 2019-09-30
Packaged: 2020-06-27 12:19:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,615
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19790755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bigblueboxat221b/pseuds/bigblueboxat221b
Summary: A collection of scenes showing Aziraphale and Crowley meeting and working together at various points in history. Consider them one-shots, though I'm aiming for each to fit in with canon.





	1. France 1793, after the Bastille

“Are you sure we’ll be safe here?” Aziraphale asked, peering around the doorframe. Despite his desire for crepes, they’d barely made it out of the Bastille before street fighting had forced them to hide.

“Yeah,” Crowley replied, slumping down in a straight backed chair. “Look, can’t I just miracle us home? Then you can come back when the revolutions over. I’m sure there’ll still be crepes in Paris.”

“I’m not leaving until I’ve had my crepes,” Aziraphale insisted stubbornly.

Crowley rolled his eyes. “These guys out there are out there fighting the good fight.” He sniffed. “Probably won’t make it through the night.”

“Hardly a good fight,” Aziraphale corrected, as he perched himself on the edge of the sofa. “Revolting against the government is not generally something encouraged by my side.”

“Pretty sure that government is headed south when Death comes for them,” Crowley said. A half smile tugged at his mouth as he watched Aziraphale nervously twist his fingers.

“Oh, and I suppose anyone not with you is against you?” Aziraphale shot back.

“Pretty much,” Crowley drawled. “Not my rules, mind.” He made a significant gesture at the floor. “Just following orders.”

“Since when have you followed orders?” Aziraphale asked him. His face softened into an affectionate look.

“Well, the last time I weighed in on a revolution,” Crawley said, “the day ended badly, let me put it that way.”

Aziraphale looked confused. “I don’t understand.”

“I told you I didn’t Fall,” Crowley said. When Aziraphale still looked confused, he expanded, trying to sound exasperated to cover his nerves. “Do you even know what happened in the Great Celestial War?”

“Well, there was a lot of fighting,” Aziraphale began. He frowned. “I missed a lot of it. Fighting is not really my forte.”

“Yes, well, one lot rebelled against the ruler,” Crowley said, as though he was explaining things to a very small child. “It started as a few people making a few suggestions about how things could be run, and the next thing I know, I’m in the basement instead of the penthouse, you get me?”

“Oh,” Aziraphale whispered. He was quiet for a long time before asking tentatively, “Is that what you meant by,” he thought for a second, “sauntered vaguely downwards?”

“Yeah,” Crawley said. “I didn’t mean to Fall, I mean there were a few things I thought could be different, and I didn’t really have a lot on that day, thought it might a laugh, or a chance to change a few things. Follow the cool kids.” He shook his head, remembering. “She always was harsh on first time offenders.”

“The apple,” Aziraphale murmured.

“The apple,” Crowley agreed.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know,” Aziraphale said. He winced at a particularly loud gunshot from outside.

“How would you?” Crowley replied. “’S fine.”

“But Crowley,” Aziraphale protested, moving closer, his eyes wide and earnest, “if you weren’t really involved, I mean forgiveness is a big thing with the Almighty…”

Crowley snorted. “Demons are beyond forgiveness, Angel. Surely you know She swore never to forgive anyone involved in the War. At least not anybody who ended up booted out of Heaven.”

“But…” Aziraphale started, then stopped, frustrated as he realised there was nothing he could say.

“Don’t worry about it,” Crowley said. “I’ve been thinking about it for thousands of years, there’s nothing to be done.”

“Is Hell…what’s it like?” Aziraphale asked, rearranging his slouched hat. “Is it very awful?”

“Moderately,” Crowley replied with a smirk. “Demons are hardly a friendly bunch.”

“Neither are angels,” Aziraphale replied without thinking, then winced. “That’s not what I meant.”

“Oh, I know what you meant,” Crowley said. “We’re from the same original stock, after all. Demons are just freer to express it.” He shrugged. “It’s too hot, crowded, smells pretty bad, and the lights never work properly.”

“Is that why you’re here?” Aziraphale asked. “On Earth, I mean.”

“It did seem a good opportunity,” Crowley admitted. “Working on my own, just sending in the paperwork, away from Hastur. He never did trust me.”

“I didn’t know demons did trust each other,” Aziraphale murmured.

“They don’t,” Crowley replied. “Bit more personal with him, though.”

“Ah,” Aziraphale said. The silence rang for a few moments until he blurted, “My bookshop is going to be full of books.”

“Well yes, that’s the general idea,” Crowley drawled, amused.

“No, you don’t understand,” the angel said. “Heaven is…” he stopped, looking uncertainly at Crowley. “Do you remember, or should I describe it?” An anxious look passed over his face. “I shan’t, if it’s too distressing for you.”

“I’ll manage,” Crowley murmured, eyes on Aziraphale. “Remind me.”

“It’s very bright,” Aziraphale said with a fleeting smile, “and big, and empty. Impersonal.”

Crowley listened for a moment before nodding.

“You hate it,” he pronounced dramatically.

“No!” Aziraphale said. He wrung his hands. “It’s just a little too…much.” He pressed his hands carefully over his clothes. “I simply prefer a more comfortable atmosphere.”

“Books,” Crowley said, clearly not understanding their appeal.

“They’re warm,” Aziraphale said defensively. “They’re heavy, and they smell good, and when you stack them all up it really is the most beautiful sight.”

“Blocks out the windows, too,” Crowley said, teasing. “Perfect place to escape the perfect void that is Heaven.”

“Crowley,” Aziraphale chided.

“We’re the same, you and I,” Crowley said. “Looking to escape our respective sides and their boring stereotypes. Wanting to be left alone to just do our jobs.”

“Well, yes,” Aziraphale replied. “Though a small measure of the humans’ free will wouldn’t go astray.”

“Angel,” Crowley said, “Are you wishing to divert from the Ineffable-ness of the Great Plan?”

“Well how can I know what it is,” Aziraphale said defensively, “if it truly is ineffable?”

“Fair point,” Crowley said. He sighed. “Pretty sure I made it the day I Fell, actually.” He went on, “Kind of wanted to say that if we didn’t know what we were supposed to do, then anything was a reasonable possibility, and thus questioning the plan might actually be the purpose of our existence.”

“I can see how that turned out,” Aziraphale replied.

“Exactly,” Crowley said. “Don’t question it, angel, or you’ll end up down with my lot. Just do what you’re told and nothing else.”

“Would it be that bad,” Aziraphale asked tentatively, “if we were on the same side?”

“We are,” Crowley said.

“Would Hell really be that bad?” Aziraphale asked again.

“You wouldn’t last a day, angel,” Crowley replied languidly, clearly ignoring the seriousness of Azriaphale’s questions.

“Wouldn’t have to stay there,” he replied, watching the demon closely for a reaction.

“Pretty sure you would,” Crowley said, a slight frown crossing his face as he registered the argument they were having. “Took me thousands of years to work my way up to being allowed to leave.”

He turned to look at Aziraphale, whose face had guilt written all over it. “Don’t tell me you’re seriously considering…”

“I’m not sure I can say I’m completely convinced anymore,” Aziraphale said softly, as though in a confessional. “Surely that amounts to treason as far as,” he pointed upwards, “they’re aware?”

“Don’t really think they monitor things that closely,” Crowley replied, now watching the angel very carefully. “Long as their paperwork comes in, don’t think they care about how deep in the faith you actually are.”

“Right,” Aziraphale replied, unconvinced.

“Either way, don’t get yourself expelled,” Crowley said. “It is definitely not worth it, I’m telling you.”

“But,” Aziraphale chewed on his bottom lip. “If there’s a chance we could…”

“What?” Crowley asked him. “Be on the same side?”

“Well, yes,” Aziraphale whispered. “I don’t want to fight in another war.”

“Well neither do I,” Crowley said. “’Spect we’ll have to deal with that when it happens.”

“Stop it, you mean,” Aziraphale asked.

“Well, yeah, maybe,” Crowley said. “Or just get out of the way.”

“Leave, you mean?” the angel asked.

“Yeah,” Crowley said. “Just let it happen without us.”

“I don’t know if I could disobey orders,” Aziraphale said. “Won’t that make them awfully angry?”

“Who?” Crowley asked. “Your lot or mine?”

“Both!” Aziraphale replied. “You just said, your lot don’t send angry notes, remember?”

“Well, yeah, but I can deal with them,” Crowley said, though his eyes grew a little thoughtful. “Just need to organise myself some insurance or summit.”

Without thinking, Aziraphale sat beside Crowley, close enough to look right at him. His arm twitched, as though he was going to reach out but thought better of it. “Don’t do anything…rash,” he said, his voice carefully neutral on the surface, though below the surface lay a world of agonised worrying. “I would…miss you if you were…”

“Inconveniently discorporated?” Crowley replied quietly. He hadn’t moved since Aziraphale sat down, eyes glued to the angel.

“Worse,” Aziraphale replied.

Silence hung between them for a long, slow moment, eyes locked in the semi darkness. Aziraphale could hear himself breathing – he knew it was an affectation but the steady rhythm of these human bodies was comforting. To his surprise, he saw Crowley draw breath, and wondered what he was going to say.

He blinked at the precise moment Crowley flicked a look down at his mouth, and so missed it entirely.

“The fighting’s stopped,” Crowley said, his voice low and liquid. “We can probably go looking for your crepes now.”

“Right,” Aziraphale murmured. With a jolt, he came back to himself. “Right! Yes! Crepes!” Standing, he flashed a smile, wider than usual but hopefully convincing. “And perhaps just a small serve of brioche.”


	2. London, Saturday, the day the world did not, in fact, end

In all the years since they’d settled in London, Aziraphale had never visited Crowley’s flat.

“Oh, how,” he paused, looking around the cold, empty space, “lovely.”

“It is not,” Crowley retorted. “It is quiet,” he snapped the ‘t’, “and empty.”

“Yes,” Aziraphale agreed, not entirely sure why that was so important. He stood just inside the door, hands behind his back. He wasn’t sure what to do. What was the right protocol after you’ve averted Armageddon?

“Siddown,” Crowley said, pointing through to a room with an ornate sofa. Aziraphale threw him an attempt at a smile, not quite meeting his eyes as he passed. Sitting on the edge of the sofa, the angel glanced around. It was so different to his bookshop. His lovely bookshop, all gone now; he’d forgotten until Crowley pointed it out as they waited for the bus. That was strange, too.

As Crowley slunk into the room, lounging over the other end of the sofa, Aziraphale remembered why they had taken the bus in the first place.

“I am sorry about your Bentley,” he said quietly.

“It’s fine,” Crowley said, waving it off.

Aziraphale waited, watching his old friend. Was he a friend, then? The word had come to him without him thinking. He’d denied it for so long, but his subconscious seemed to think it the right word. Aziraphale studied the demon’s face, familiar enough with the blasé attitude to see through to the emotion below.

“It’s not,” he replied finally. “When you’re used to having something – _someone_ – and then it’s gone…” he trailed off.

“Yeah,” Crowley finally admitted. “Still, if Adam puts the world back together, you never know.” He looked at Aziraphale and the angel realised he could meet Crowley’s gaze. _No glasses._

“Indeed,” Aziraphale murmured. His heart leapt at the idea of seeing his bookshop again. That lead him on a trail of thought somewhat less comforting. “What do you think will happen now?” he asked anxiously.

“Now?” Crowley repeated.

“I don’t think Gabriel and…”

“Beelzebub,” Crowley supplied.

“Thank you, yes, Beelzebub, were too happy with us,” Aziraphale explained. “Surely they won’t simply leave us alone?”

“Unlikely,” Crowley said with a snort. He stretched, rolling his head to one side. “I dunno. Not like this bit’s got a convenient book of accurate predictions to tell us what to do.”

“Agnes!” Aziraphale exclaimed. He stood up and reached into his jacket pocket, pulling out the charred scrap of paper. “Prophesy number five thousand and four. ‘When alle is sayed and all is done, ye must choose your faces wisely, for soon enouff ye will be playing with fyre.’”

“Where did you get that?” Crowley asked, taking the paper from Aziraphale and reading it closely. “Is this from the book?”

“I think it’s the last prophesy,” Aziraphale confirmed. “It flew right to me when you returned the book to the girl with the bike.”

“What the devil does it mean?” Crowley asked, reading it again. ‘Choose your faces wisely’?”

“’For soon enouff ye will be playing with fyre,’” Aziraphale concluded the line. “Playing with fire…”

He sat for a few minutes, wondering if the idea that had occurred to him was likely or even possible.

“I know she had a reputation for being right,” Crowley began.

“She was always right,” Aziraphale corrected him earnestly.

“But,” the demon continued pointedly, “this is rubbish! Doesn’t mean anything!” he thrust it back at Aziraphale. “And how do you know it’s meant for us, anyway?”

Aziraphale frowned at Crowley. “Who else could have anything to do now?” he asked. “And it flew right to me at the airfield.”

“Oooh, it’s a miracle,” Crowley said sarcastically.

“I have an idea, actually,” Aziraphale said, ignoring Crowley’s tone. He waited until he had at least part of Crowley’s attention. “Assuming both sides are equally unhappy with us, what do you think your side will do?”

Crowley barked a short laugh. “Well, assuming Hastur has run back home to tell tales, something pretty drastic considering he saw me drench a demon in holy water.”

“Holy water?” Aziraphale whispered. “Do you mean…”

“Yes,” Crowley said, with that almost smile Aziraphale secretly loved. “Thanks for that. Saved my life.”

“You’re welcome,” the angel whispered. After a moment he cleared his throat. “Well, given how upset Gabriel appeared, I would say they’ll be looking to discipline me as well.”

“Oooh,” Crowley started, then stopped when Aziraphale gave him an impatient look.

“Gabriel likes to be dramatic,” Aziraphale went on. “And if Beelzebub wants to get their hands on holy water for you, Gabriel might ask for something in return. Something like…”

“Fire,” Crowley whispered. His eyes were wide, mouth hanging open a little. “God Almighty, you are a clever one.”

“Thank you,” Aziraphale said seriously, suppressing a little wiggle of delight at the compliment. “Therefore, if Agnes is trying to help us, we’ll need a way to appear as ourselves, but a version of ourselves that can withstand the punishment of our respective bosses.”

Crowley was still looking thunderstruck as Aziraphale’s plan blossomed in his brain. “You think we should swap bodies, convince Heaven and Hell that we are somehow invincible, then swap back.”

“Well, it’s not as simple as that,” Aziraphale started, then stopped. “Actually, yes it is. That’s exactly what I’m suggesting.”

“Well,” Crowley said, still staring in astonishment at Aziraphale. “For an angel that wasn’t too happy about sending fake reports back to the office in the dark ages, you’ve changed your tune.”

“I rather think it’s been changed for me,” Aziraphale said. He couldn’t keep the sadness out of his voice, but he kept talking to disguise it. “What do you think? We’ll have to practice of course, but I do think this is what Agnes meant.” He looked expectantly at Crowley.

“Angel,” Crowley said, stepping closer in that casual way he had, “this is a big thing you’re suggesting.”

“I know,” Aziraphale replied. Crowley was much closer now.

“It would require…trust,” Crowley said, rolling the last word around in his mouth with enjoyment.

Aziraphale could feel those yellow eyes on him, the demon’s trademark amusement dancing across his face as he studied Aziraphale’s reaction.

“Yes,” Aziraphale replied stiffly, his eyes meeting Crowley’s then pulling away, nervous. “Well, after so long working together,” he swallowed, finally looking at Crowley, holding his eyes so the demon knew he was being serious, “who else would I trust with my life?”

Whatever Crowley was expecting, it wasn’t this. The smart comment Aziraphale could see waiting to fall from his tongue did not come; instead he nodded slowly.

“And I suppose I can trust you with mine,” he replied, voice serious, eyes still holding the ghost of a smirk.

Aziraphale flashed back to the times he’d worried more for Crowley’s safety than anything else. The Globe Theatre; St. James’ Park; the Bentley when he finally relented and gave Crowley the holy water.

“Of course,” he said quietly. There was a pause, and he couldn’t help the words that slipped out. “Do you really think this might be right? I mean, what if I’m wrong?”

“Wrong?” Crowley said. “Well, if they just give us a slap on the wrist, we’ll be fine.”

“Well, yes,” Aziraphale agreed, “but what if it’s something else?”

“Something else?” Crowley repeated. “Something else that involves fire, that we could probably avoid by changing our faces?”

Blinking, Aziraphale looked back down at the paper he was holding. “Oh,” he said, surprised as if he’d never read it before. “Oh, of course.” He felt himself slump with relief. “Thank you, Crowley.”

“Anytime,” Crowley replied. “Look, it’s been a long day. Probably should get some rest. We can do it tomorrow morning.”

“Do what?” Aziraphale asked absently, his mind on the problem he was now anticipating.

“The swap!” Crowley said impatiently. “What else have we been talking about?”

“Yes, right,” Aziraphale replied. “Crowley, where exactly am I going to sleep?”

“Spare room,” Crowley said without hesitating. He waved his hand at the door. “Second on the left.”

“Thank you,” Aziraphale replied, slightly disappointed in the answer. He looked up and smiled, falsely bright. “Well, I will retire for the evening. Thank you for allowing me to stay in your home.”

“No problem,” Crowley replied.

Aziraphale could feel those eyes on him as he walked out of the room. This was going to be challenging, he thought.

+++

Demons, like their angel counterparts, do not _need_ to sleep. Their corporeal bodies are generally intended for short term use, and are considered expendable.

Longer term use requires a level of maintenance, however, and both Crawley and Aziraphale have learned that a certain amount of sleep – along with food and water – helps to keep their Earthly bodies running smoothly. In this respect they were very similar.

Nightmares were an area in which they differed.

Aziraphale’s nightmares were based, ironically enough, on his experiences in Heaven. As angels went he was unusual, nervous; far less likely to relish his power than, say, the Archangels. As such, he was bullied relentlessly and his experiences gave his subconscious a multitude of scenarios from which to craft his nightmares.

Crowley had just one nightmare, and it came true every day. Being expelled from Heaven and forced to serve Hell had not been part of his plan, and yet here he was. Eons of practice at appearing demonic, fooling his superiors into thinking he was committed to actual evil when all he wanted was some space. Walking the fine line between keeping them happy and actually hurting people was tricky, but he’d had a very long time to get it right.

For the first time, tonight, both angel and demon would sleep, and dream, of the same thing.

***

“It’s rather early for you, isn’t it?” Aziraphale asked as Crowley swaggered into the living room.

“Yeah,” Crowley answered shortly. “And you, come to think of it.”

“Bad dream,” Aziraphale admitted. “An unusual one. I’d rather begin this day than finish the night.”

“Me too,” Crowley said.

Aziraphale hesitated, then said in a rush, “I dreamed I was you, in Hell, and they knew it was me.”

“And they destroyed you,” Crowley finished.

Aziraphale nodded, a tiny action accompanied by wide, fearful eyes. “It was dreadful.”

“Same here,” Crowley replied. “Well, in Heaven, obviously, but same thing.”

There was a silence for a long moment. “Do you really think we can do it?” Aziraphale whispered.

“Don’t have much choice,” Crowley said. “What else can we do?”

“Run away?” Aziraphale said. “There’s lots of places out there…”

“Like Alpha Centauri,” Crowley replied, raising one eyebrow.

“Yes,” Aziraphale repeated.

“They won’t leave us alone,” Crowley reminded him. “And besides, I thought that witch was always right. And she’s basically told us to do this.”

Aziraphale stared at him. “Alright,” he said. “But we’ll need to practice. Being each other.”

“Oh, no, angel,” Crowley said, smirking. “After all these years, I’ve got you down.”

“Oh really?” Aziraphale said. He crossed his arms. “Go on, then.”

Crowley smirked at him, then settled his expression into one of helpless devotion. “Oh, how I love crepes,” he said, forcing his voice up into a higher register. He chuckled at himself.

“For pity’s sake,” Aziraphale muttered. He stood up. “Very well, you leave me no choice.”

He closed his eyes, picturing Crowley appearing as he had in the Bastille. Slouched. Casual, head rolling loosely on his shoulders. The voice was deeper, the mouth more languid to allow words to flow. “What the deuce are you doing locked up in the Bastille? I thought you were opening a bookshop.”

Crowley, still smirking at his own impression, stopped. He raised one eyebrow. “Not bad,” he allowed.

“It’ll be better in your body,” Aziraphale said, then blushed deeply.

“Alright then, angel,” Crowley said. “Do you know how it’s done?”

“Simple enough,” Aziraphale replied, offering his hand.

For a long beat, he wondered if Crowley might not take it. Raising his eyes, he met the amused yellow eyes of the demon. As soon as their eyes met, a hand clenched his, and they were melting through that connection, ethereal and demonic squeezing past to settle in their new vessels.

“Gosh,” Aziraphale said. He frowned, and stopped, running his tongue around his mouth. “New teeth,” he said.

“New teeth,” Crowley agreed, doing the same. “That’s weird.”

“We’ll get used to it,” Aziraphale said. It felt strange, inhabiting this new vessel after so long in his own. Which reminded him. He focussed, looking at the person standing before him.

It was him, but not him. He could see shadows of Crawley in the posture, the loose joints, the wariness of expression.

“Okay, this is going to take some practice,” Crowley said. “How do you get around with so much constrictive fabric around your neck?”

“It’s stylish,” Aziraphale replied absently. “You actually are quite tall. Is that why you slouch so much?”

“I do not slouch,” Crowley said, “I…saunter.”

“Yes, I remember,” Aziraphale replied. “Well, perhaps we should start with the walk, then.” He took a deep breath, relaxing himself, trying to move the way he saw Crawley move.

“No, it’s more from the hips,” Crawley said, watching him cross the room. “You’re too uptight. Remember you’re a demon, you don’t care what anyone thinks.”

Aziraphale stopped, closing his eyes to try and inhabit Crowley’s presence more clearly. _Relaxed. Sauntering. Nothing is a rush. You have an answer for everything. Usually._ He took a deep breath and tried again, walking across the living room and back. Turning, he saw his own face watching critically, and when the blue eyes met his own, Aziraphale raised one eyebrow in the overly dramatic way Crowley tended to do.

“Much better,” Crowley drawled.

“Much better,” Aziraphale imitated. “After all, I am a demon from Hell, aren’t I?”

The smirk on Crowley’s face marked his approval. “I’d better get practicing too. Can’t go giving the game away.”

Aziraphale’s insides had been bubbling with a little happiness, but the bubbles fell flat at Crowley’s words. It was hardly a game; they were trying to fool both Heaven and Hell, risking everything on a prophesy made by a human hundreds of years ago.

He hoped it worked.

+++

Aziraphale walked as quickly as he dared to the square. He’d arrived back at Crowley’s flat – it would be what they’d expect – and he daren’t miracle anything in case Heaven was looking. For all they knew, they had their angel. From his end, it had gone perfectly. He’d been cocky once they knew the holy water wasn’t going to cut it, asking Michael to miracle him a towel, but it was exactly the kind of thing Crowley might have done, so it wasn’t too risky. It was rather fun, actually. Easy to say, now that he was back here in one piece. That might change if there wasn’t a demon here to meet him.

“Hello,” a voice said, and to Aziraphale’s immense relief, it was Crowley dropping onto the seat beside him. From the automatic way he slouched into the seat, he wasn’t bothering with their subterfuge any more. With relief, Aziraphale sat up, abandoning the artful slump for something more comfortable. Feet together, hands folded in his lap, back straight. Perfect.

“It’s lovely to see you,” Aziraphale said. He heard his voice tremble and hoped Crawley could hear it.

“Yeah,” he replied, but the soft grin was enough. “You too.”

“So what do you plan on doing now?” Aziraphale asked. “Assuming Hell no longer requires your services?”

“No idea,” Crowley replied. He winced, pulling at his collar. “I assume you’re going to keep the bookshop.”

“I am,” Aziraphale replied. “Will you stay in London?” He tried to give the question a casual air, but he knew the answer was more important that he was willing to admit.

“Yeah,” Crowley replied. He slid a glance sideways. “I’ve got an old friend here. Rather nice to chat to.”

Aziraphale felt himself blush at the compliment, then he sobered. “Oh, you told me you lost your best friend. I’m so sorry to hear it.” He hesitated, the smart still stinging a little. “Was he one of your Network?”

Crawley stared at him. “It was you, Aziraphale,” he said. “I went to the bookshop and it was burning. You were gone, and I thought…I didn’t know.”

Aziraphale blinked. “Oh,” he said. “Oh, well…I’m here now.”

“Yes, I noticed,” Crowley said dryly. “Look, let’s do this, can we?”

“Certainly,” Aziraphale replied, looking around.

“Do you think they’ll leave us alone now?” Crowley asked.

“At a guess,” Aziraphale replied, “they’ll pretend it never happened.” He glance around again, lingering fear at being seen coming to the surface. “Right, anyone looking?”

Crowley looked around, pressing his fingers to his forehead to check for non-humans in the area, “Nobody. Right, swap back, then?”

They flowed back into their own bodies, Aziraphale shuddering a little as he settled back into the familiar form. He glanced over at his friend – his best friend, as it turned out, and a warmth filled him. Whatever they did now, it would be together. Maybe they could even go for lunch. Somewhere special, perhaps.

Somewhere with crepes.


	3. Saturday, After Armagge-don't, at Crowley's place

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They're hiding out after the events at the airfield, knowing things in the future are bound to be unpleasant unless they can come up with a plan.  
> Yes, I know I've already done one of these in this collection, but the more the merrier, right? *tosses glitter in the air*

“So, if we’re waiting around here with not much else to do,” Crowley said, stretching along the wide chaise lounge, “why don’t you tell me why you were so eager to escape Heaven?”

Aziraphale almost dropped his cocoa at the question. “I beg your pardon?” he sputtered. “I feel no such way!”

“Really,” Crowley replied, barely containing his disbelief. “There must be some reason you’ve spent over six thousand years on Earth.” He rolled his head to the side, looking up at the angel. “Anyone else would have asked to go back millennia ago.”

“The same could be said for you,” Aziraphale said defensively. “You might have return to Hell whenever you wanted!” He thought for a moment. “Well, perhaps not so recently.”

“No, not then,” Crowley agreed. He shifted over, allowing space for Aziraphale.

The angel settled, turning slightly to face Crowley. “You first, then.”

“Well, it’s Hell, isn’t it?” Crowley replied. “Hardly a lovely place to spend all eternity. If you recall, I was the one trying to get you to help stop the Antichrist.”

“That is true,” Aziraphale agreed. He hesitated. “Heaven was not perhaps as heavenly as it could have been.”

“Really,” Crowley said sarcastically.

Aziraphale frowned. He sipped at his cocoa, sighing as he realised he actually wanted to tell Crowley. “Do you remember what it was like?”

Crowley went still. “Impressions,” he said finally. “It was white. Very white. And clean. Empty.”

“Yes,” Aziraphale said. “Everyone loved it. All the other angels got along, making their jokes and playing their games.”

“But not you,” Crowley said, surprise in his voice.

“Not me,” Aziraphale said. “I listened to the Almighty. I believed in what She said.” He huffed out a breath, looking into his cocoa. “I might have been the only one who took it seriously,” he said, a note of sadness in his voice. “I became a target of ridicule.”

“Ridicule?” Crowley asked. “In Heaven?”

“Well, yes,” Aziraphale replied. “When the Revolution began, the Almightly said we should let the renegades leave if they wanted to.”

“And you listened.”

“I listened,” Aziraphale said miserably. “Once the Fallen angels had departed, a group of influential angels decided I wasn’t quite as angelic as they were. They pointed out my differences. Excluded me. And once I gave away my sword,” he sighed, “I’m reasonably sure one of them suggested I be stationed on Earth.”

“The cool kids bullied you, then kicked you out of Heaven,” Crowley summarised.

“They did,” Aziraphale said.

“And it was better to be here?” Crowley said. “Even at the start, with the robes and the dirt and everything?”

“Oh yes,” Aziraphale said. He glanced over, unsure if he should continue. “Do you remember when we first met?”

“On the wall,” Crowley said immediately. “I thought the humans were going to be eaten by that lion.”

“Yes,” Aziraphale said. “You said,” he looked up as he strained to remember the exact words, “'You’re an angel, I don’t think you can do the wrong thing.'”

“You were quite worried,” Crowley said. “Would you really have gotten in that much trouble?”

“If anybody had seen me talking to you, I might have been banished,” Aziraphale said. “She’d just banished the humans, what would have stopped Her adding to the tally?”

Crowley sniggered, then looked over. Seeing Aziraphale’s face, he stopped, sitting up a little. “Seriously? You were actually worried about that?”

Aziraphale felt his fingers tighten on his mug. The ceramic was almost too hot against his fingertips. “Please don’t,” he whispered.

“No, sorry, I didn’t mean…” Crowley trailed off. “They really weren’t very nice to you, were they?”

“That thing you said on the wall, that was the first nice thing anyone had said to me since the Revolution,” Aziraphale blurted. He flexed his fingers.

“Since the Revolution?” Crowley repeated. “But that’s…ages!”

“Yes, I know,” Aziraphale replied.

“Oh, so that’s why you were so relieved,” Crowley mused aloud.

“I tried so hard to please the Almighty,” Aziraphale said, his voice anguished. “But I never knew if I was doing the right thing.”

“Ineffable plan,” Crowley said. “It’s a bit hard when you’re trying to follow along.”

“Yes,” Aziraphale agreed.

It was quiet for a while. Aziraphale's fingertips were pulsing where the ceramic had burned him; the sensation was grounding, somehow.

“Is that why you came and said hi?” Crowley asked suddenly.

“I beg your pardon?” Aziraphale said.

“In Rome,” Crowley said. “I was really very rude, and you just kept talking to me.”

“I suppose,” Aziraphale replied. “It’s difficult to make friends when you’re immortal. And moving around all the time.”

Crowley snorted. “Don’t even mention if you’re going around stirring up discord.”

“Exactly,” Aziraphale said. His momentary perkiness faded. “After all those years it was nice to see a friendly face.”

“Even when it wasn’t friendly?” Crowley said.

“Familiar, then,” Aziraphale said. “And given our particular professions, someone to talk to is,” he sighed, “nice.”

“Nice,” Crowley said. He, in turn sighed. “I suppose you’ve called me worse.”

“Like kind,” Aziraphale said, leaning closer. “A four letter word, I recall you saying.”

Neither spoke for a moment, and Aziraphale wondered if Crowley was also remembering that moment in the old convent, before the ex-satanic nun interrupted them.

“We’re going to need a plan,” Crowley said quietly. Somehow, his hand was cradling Aziraphale’s, the very tips of his fingers stroking the smarting skin of Aziraphale’s fingerprints. The ceramic had been hotter than he realised, he thought dimly. This was nice, thought.

“We’re on our own team, aren’t we?” Aziraphale said quietly. “They’re really frightfully cross with us both.”

“I’m not sure I’m all that upset about it, to be honest,” Crowley replied. “I’d rather spend eternity with you than in Hell.”

“And I you,” Aziraphale said quietly. “Well, not me in Hell…”

He trailed off as Crowley’s hand stilled, then clenched his. “Now that’s an idea,” Crowley said slowly. “What did that piece of paper say again?”

With a startled glance, Aziraphale fished the scrap of parchment from his pocket. “When all is fated and all is done, ye must choose your faces wisely, for soon enough ye will be playing with fire,” he read.

“Playing with fire,” Crowley mused, resuming his careful stroking of Aziraphale’s fingers. He looked up, assessing Aziraphale with his eyes.

“What?” Aziraphale said nervously. “I have the distinct impression you are forming a plan, Crowley.”

“I am,” Crowley replied with a devilish smile. He sat up suddenly, bringing his face close to Aziraphale’s, eyes intense. “Do you trust me, angel?”

“I beg your pardon?” Aziraphale asked.

“Do you trust me?” Crowley repeated. “Not in a ‘close your eyes and eat this’ kind of way. In a ‘this could get us permanently discorporated and stuck in the deepest pit Hell has to offer’ kind of way.”

“Oh,” Aziraphale breathed. Crowley was simply breathtaking when he was passionate about something. “Yes,” he said finally. “I do.”

“Well then,” Crowley said, “let’s talk about you in Hell, shall we?”


End file.
